


Rotten Lust || Murder in the City

by StubbornBeast



Series: Wendigo [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Cannibalism, False Hope, Fantasy, Hints of lust, Hints of seduction, Horror, Mental Instability, Monsters, Murder, Non-sexual, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, Other, Series, Short Story, Suffering, Trauma, Violence, Wendigo, scary imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StubbornBeast/pseuds/StubbornBeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rotting of the apples. Their acridly sweet smell often encompassed her senses, even when she was far from the place she considered her home. It was a smell that imprinted itself upon her senses and refused to leave her. Even the smell of blood and torn flesh couldn’t rid the air of that stench.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of my Wendigo series. You might want to read in order to grasp the character and her background!  
> I do not consent to sharing of this story on different websites.
> 
> This story is present for my little Wendigo. And there will be some... odd intentions regarding the 'seduction' tag above. Nothing underage or illegal, mind you.  
> I just wanted to warn you, ahead of time!
> 
> My apologies for any triggers that might be present; it was not my intention.  
> Please regard the tags before you read.
> 
> Thank-you!  
> xo. Sam.

* * *

 

The transition of the seasons had happened seamlessly.

One day, it had been warm and colorful. The next, it was bitter cold and the colors were falling. She understood that they were leaves and she knew that it was an indication of the coming winter, but it didn’t mean that she had to be happy about it. It didn’t matter what form she was in; she was not pleased with the period of time it took for the seasons to transition. Typically, the weather was erratic and unpleasant. Some days it was warm and sunny, some sunny and cold, others raining and tolerable, while some mornings were met with rain chilled enough for breaths to become visible. There was a respect for each of the seasons in their own right, and Hollen loved winter, but she wasn’t fond of the processes it took to achieve the bitter, biting cold of that colorless time of year.

During this time, this unfortunate transition, there was something else that often tickled Hollen the wrong way. The rotting of the apples. Their acridly sweet smell often encompassed her senses, even when she was far from the place she considered her home. It was a smell that imprinted itself upon her senses and refused to leave her. Even the smell of blood and torn flesh couldn’t rid the air of that stench. While it was disgustingly sweet, it also seemed to blossom a new sense of anger within the Wendigo herself, should she possess that form. Anger was an emotion she didn’t often tamper with, along with the other array of emotions that the beast seemed to lack completely. Anger was bright and new, violently red in her vision like the darkening flesh of those apples. It splattered across the scenery as she hurled apples through the orchard and let their softening flesh splinter apart whenever they hit the bark of the dormant trees. Each apple peppered the frost-covered forest floor, mingling with the fallen, browning leaves.

Each hit was like a thrum of anger pulsing through her elongated limbs, stirring out a huff of cloudy breath through her black nostrils. Certain throws possessed more force than others, causing her antlers to scrape along the branches of some of the more unfortunate trees in her rage. She’d assessed that one of the worst parts of anger was that it was blinding; her angry fit had no explanation. Was she angry with the rotting fruits and the scents that drew on the last of the season’s insects? Was she angry with the earth and how it could not decide to completely slip into the dormancy of winter just yet? Or was she angry with something more basic, more primal, like the other emotions that she’d been struggling with in the recent months? Loneliness feeding into sadness, and sadness bleeding into rages for which she had no previous control. Even now, as she hurled helpless, soft apples from her clawed fingers to smash against the trunks of trees, there was an obvious lack of control. The air surrounding her pulsed with her emotions as they seeped into the emptiness of the atmosphere.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 This place, which was normally welcoming in its quiet, was suffocating in its silence now.

Eventually, as the sun settled higher in the sharp, blue sky, her rage seemed to dull to a soft throb somewhere in her chest. The cleaning of the orchard had ceased, and her emaciated form felt hunger keenly. Slowly, made her way back to the cave to scrounge for any remaining food, only to find herself rapidly disappointed by the lack of supplies there. A huff of frustration filtered out before she swiftly turned on her heel and stalked from the darkness, finding the heat of her anger being stoked again by even the mildest of irritants. A bird dared to fluttery nearby, letting out a lone call to draw her icy gaze towards its frail body. The ruby red creature flitted off quickly, however, as if sensing the weight of the monster’s gaze.  Slowly, she blinked, and continued her journey towards the far-off edges of the forest, feeling her form changing as she went. The monster lost its height, lost the patchy red fur that covered its skinny frame. Antlers shrunk into nothingness and her muzzle slid back to become something of a normal face. Pale flesh took up residence upon her human skeleton, and long, tangled red locks trailed down her bare spine. Her skin was dusted with an enormous amount of freckles, their presence increased in locations where the sun seemed to reflect on her the most. But today, the shade of the remaining leaves kept the sun from spilling onto her, kept the grass from warming enough to keep the chill from her bare feet.

An old storm shelter had become a storage facility for her clothes whenever she decided to head into town. Finding the rickety doors, she descended into the underground room and sifted through some boxes. It took her only moments to emerge from that place, her hair braided back and draping over her shoulder as she smoothed her long fingers over the corded sweater that kept her torso warm. Wearing shoes was still a strange sensation, but something she was slowly getting used to. A strong desire clenched her gut as she sniffed the air, stepping onto a paved path that twisted into a small park, which would eventually lead to a smaller town nearby. She smelled something sweet and savory, something she recognized from a long time ago and that made her smile ruefully with nostalgia. Muffins. The tall redhead made her way towards the small café, stepping inside as stoically as ever, and made her way to the counter.

Sitting outside, alone in the chill of the morning, she sipped at her bitter tea and munched on a blueberry muffin, watching the small town coming to life. Human interaction was still rather fractured in her mind; there were few humans she trusted with more than a glance, seeing as most of them became her meals, eventually. Licking some crumbs from her fingers, letting some dot her lap as she sat, blue eyes came to hone in on a figure across the street. An icy feeling began to slowly crawl up from her feet as she stared, feeling frozen beneath the warmth of her clothes. This wasn’t a chill from the outside elements, however, and she knew it. Rarely did she find herself braced in such a defensive manner, so rarely that it took her by surprised and her lungs expelled all air from her chest. With a strong sense of discomfort, her heart began to race and her hand reached up to rub at her chest, a throbbing already forming in her head. Yet, she couldn’t take her gaze away from the male figure that was walking along the street, probably minding his own business and on his way to do whatever humans did at this time of day.

Like the blindness of rage, the lust-filled need for killing was also an encompassing temptation. And it wouldn’t be denied for long.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

A gasp swiftly lifted from her lips as she splashed the chilled water on her face. Lifting her head, she gazed towards her own reflection in the mirror and blinked slowly. Her freckles were thick on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose – from spending time out in the sun, she suspected. Her icy blue eyes were piercing, the same eyes she recalled seeing in the set of a monster’s face those many years ago when she’d earned her other form. The sight of that stranger had struck a deep cord within her, and though she’d immediately known what the reason was behind it, she hadn’t been prepared for what had followed.  
  
Absolute  _panic._  
  
Fear wasn’t an emotion that Hollen often dealt with, in either form. It took very unique combinations of situations to actually bring her fright; panic was just as unique to her. She didn’t like the way it had dredged through her veins like heavy concrete, or how she had broken out in a light sweat. She’d felt… clammy, almost, and it made her skin crawl. Was this how she made people feel whenever they caught sight of her monster half? There was a comfort in that thought that resulted in a twisted little smile playing at her lips. Running her hands through her hair and gathering her wits, the redhead soon shifted out of the small café bathroom and back out towards the area where she sat outside. The brisk fall air filled her lungs and soothed her as she stuck her hands into her pockets and began to follow the subtle scent remaining of the man she’d spotted across the street.  
  
She knew that it wouldn’t be immediate. This hunt would take some time, patience. It brought her to wonder if she possessed such patience, but she imagined that she could do it. Often, her hunts brought her immediate gratification. This, however, would bring her an intense gratification upon its completion. It would be worth the wait, she had to tell herself. Her patience would have to pay off.  
  
Her pace was easy as she strolled along the sidewalk. She kept her gaze forward, observing the bags of trash on the sidewalk, bits of litter in the gutter. Leaves were swirling around in the empty street and she wondered why they were so empty around this time of day? Granted, she had no idea what day it was, nor the month, so maybe it was a day that people went to work or whatever they did in their daily lives. She was pondering these ideas when she rounded a corner and caught the scent full-tilt, almost freezing in her tracks as she dissected the smell with a wrinkle of her nose.  
  
Tobacco, paper, some kind of rich, fake smelling  scent, and a natural odor reminiscent of moldy ferns.  
  
A grimace touched her lips as she scanned the street, hoping to find the too-familiar figure somewhere nearby. Her feet began to move her forward again as she spotted him entering a rather boring looking building with tall windows on the front of it. It looked different from the other buildings on the street: white stone structure, large pillars, and a feeling of sterility. Glancing towards the sky, she realized that it was a little bit after noon and he probably wouldn’t be emerging until the sun was nearing the horizon. A burst of frustration caused her jaw to clench before she let it out in a harsh breath, logically reasoning that she had all the time in the world.  
  
The monster was content with waiting. 

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

_Who knew that flirting could get you so far._

The whole process was shorter than she’d expected it would be. She simply stopped by the same corner every day after eating a muffin at the café she’d discovered. She would stand there and make herself look busy by doing something minute: reading, humming to herself, or simply sitting on the bench and people-watching. Luckily, she had quite the variety of clothes thanks to one of her closest friends. She often thought of that, as well, while she was sitting on that corner and waiting to catch the eye of a man probably twenty-years her senior. How strange it was, to have friends, or to know that she had others she could depend on. The beginning of her life had been so lonely, with the monster only appearing whenever it felt it was necessary. Now, she had people who were close to her… maybe not consistently, but they were there.

Today was different. She’d managed to scrounge up a dress of sorts, though it showed quite a bit of her long, freckled legs, and a pair of decent shoes. Flicking her hair from her face, she turned her head just in time to see the familiar figure leaving the building that she understood now as the local bank. As if on cue, his head swiveled like she predicted and he caught her eye. A slow smile twisted onto her lips. The eyes were wrong, and it irked her that they were so wrong. _They’ll be the first thing to go._

Standing up from the bench, she smoothed her hands over her dress and sucked in a soft breath. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored glass of the building behind her. A nod of approval at her reflection, and she made her way towards where the man was standing, looking at her with vague interest and a smirk on his lips. He needed a shave, she noticed, and there was some hair missing that he was obviously styling his hair to cover. It didn’t matter, though. His hair was dark, and _right_. His nose was crooked in just the right way, and there was a crease in his chin that was too familiar. The eyes, though, those eyes made her suppress a growl and force a sickeningly sweet smile instead.

“You’ve been watching me.”

He didn’t state it as a question; he knew what she was about. Today, he smelled more like tobacco and moldy ferns than paper. His fake smell was different, though: sweet… rotten. It was off. She didn’t quite like it, but she managed to let her nose only wrinkle a little bit before she shrugged her shoulders slowly. Her eyes caught his wandering to the obvious accentuation of the casual motion, and she knew that she had him hooked in just the way she anticipated. The smile on her lips grew a little more and the look in her eyes turned predatory.

“Yes, I have. Is that a problem?”

The words poured from her lips like she was purring with contentment. A brief extending of her arm and she touched him along his, feeling the slightly itchy material of his suit jacket. He smirked towards her once more, the look in his eyes reflecting hers.

He wasn’t the monster here.

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Apparently, people liked to pay for small living spaces where they could hear others through the walls. They were called ‘apartments’, and Hollen realized very quickly that she didn’t like them. Why would people ever want to live like that? It reminded her vaguely of hotel rooms and motel rooms, though they were a little more elaborate than the ones she had been in. They had separate bedrooms from the main area, separate bathrooms, and a kitchen. Overall, it was just a shrunken-down house with noise constantly surrounding it. And not the good noise, like back at the cabin she’d been raised in. Not birds singing outside of the windows or crickets chirping at night, a chorus of nature related sounds. No, his place was surrounded by the noises of people: toilets flushing, banging, muffled voices. She found that if she focused on them for too long, they were a quick irritant and easily capable of distracting her from her main goal.  
  
She supposed that this place was something to be proud of for the man. He had it rather clean, and the floors were wooden. There were little figurines on some of the shelves that looked like glass, which she imagined probably weren’t glass, and were probably pretty expensive. Money was still an odd concept for her to grasp, but this man worked it money and seemed to have a decent amount of it. At least, that was something she was assuming by how he tried to flaunt the things he owned. He had already showed off his large television – which she wasn’t even sure if it was really a television: where was the back of it? And he was further showing off his fancy suit – which felt scratchy beneath her fingertips – and the bottle of wine he’d brought out from a specific rack that was holding other bottles of the same stuff.  
  
Hollen decided that she rather liked wine, but didn’t like how it made her feel.  
  
It warmed her up from the inside out, like certain emotions, except this wine stuff made her head feel a little funny. And it tended to make her vision a little blurred. She had to stop drinking every time he filled up her glass or the night wasn’t going to go as she planned it. Not at all. She blinked a bit and rubbed at her eyes, sipping out of the bottle of water he’d brought her from his kitchen. He had started the evening by sitting on the opposite side of the couch from her, and she suddenly realized that he was sitting beside her now, an arm slung across her shoulders. He was warm, and his eyes were constantly on her. She could sense them, even if she wasn’t catching him doing so. It made her skin crawl in a way that she wasn’t really used to. She didn’t like it. But that’d didn’t matter. She held her water bottle and leaned into his arm, laughing at jokes she didn’t understand and placing her hand on his chest sometimes to maintain the contact between them.  
  
Hollen was thankful for her patience at this point. She was going to be thankful for when he couldn’t speak to her any longer. He was using a condescending voice, talking to her as though she were below him somehow. And maybe she didn’t get some of his jokes, or references, but she certainly knew who rested at the top of the food chain.  _He_  was below  _her_.

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

It didn’t take her long to catch on to how she was supposed to be acting around him. It would be dangerous to hurt his pride – about as dangerous as it would be to hurt hers – and she knew that complimenting him would be plenty to soften him up. That, and the wine he was consuming at a rather quick rate. The sun had set and he hadn’t noticed. She pretended not to notice, letting the television become their background noise as she giggled and laughed along with his nonsense. Were all men like this? Boring and believing that women only wanted to listen to every word that came out of their mouths? It was rather unfortunate because she imagined he might have been a nice guy under other circumstances. Or, maybe he wasn’t, and that was fine, too. The result was going to be the same no matter what his personality was like.

 Then, the mood seemed to shift into what she had been anticipating all along.

 He leaned in and went to place a kiss upon her lips. Hollen turned her head and caught the kiss with her high cheekbone, a teasing giggle leaving her lips as her ice-blue gaze sparkled towards him. He chuckled softly, hot in her ear and smelling like wine. His hand shifted to place his glass upon the table and moved to her knee, shifting up her bare thigh. Mentally, she made a note to burn this dress whenever the hunt was over. His fingertips were just breaching the edge of the fabric, where her muscles tensed beneath his touch. The smirk on his lips told her that he believed her muscle reactions were stemmed from a different emotion and not the vile discomfort she was truly feeling. She couldn’t wait to break each of those fingers from his grimy hands and suck the flesh from the bone. She licked her lips as she thought about it, and sent a completely different message to the victim sitting beside her. He teased the shell of her ear with his teeth – which she assumed was supposed to turn her on or something – and murmured hotly into her ear:

  _“Let’s take this into the bedroom, sweetie.”_

Instantly, she hated being called ‘sweetie’. How degrading. But she smiled nonetheless and shrugged, standing up and setting her own glass down on the table beside his own. She allowed him to take her hand and lead her down the small hallway towards what she assumed was his bedroom. She watched as he opened the door and stepped to the side, letting her take in the rather plain bed. It was unmade, the sheets and blankets were dark, and the room itself was rather bland. Nothing was on the walls, the closet door was open with a pile of dirty clothes on the floor right inside of it, and two of his dresser drawers were open. Trying to look impressed, she gave him a wink and a smile, walking over to sit down on the edge of his bed. She turned her eyes towards him and then raised an eyebrow as he approached her, trying to box her in with his arms on either side of her and his thighs closing hers in tightly.

 She pressed her hands to his chest and gave him a wickedly sweet smile. Her words were soft and seductive between them as the fingertips of her right hand traced along the length of his tie.

 “Ah ah ah. I think that you’ll find I prefer to be… in charge, here, if that’s okay with you.”

 That seemed to take him by surprise, but his answering smile was all she needed to know that she had him hooked.

  _“Whatever you say, sweetie.”_

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song (to be used in this chapter and next): Take Me To Church - Hozier.

* * *

_My lover’s got humor_  
  
_She’s the giggle at a funeral_  
  
_Knows everybody’s disapproval_  
  
_I should’ve worshipped her sooner…_  
  
The crooning tone of someone she didn’t know began to pour through the radio. He’d initially turned it on, claiming it would help get them in the ‘mood’ or something dumb like that. Well, whatever his reasoning, it certainly was working. It managed to keep him distracted enough to where he’d allowed her to roll him onto his back upon the bed, and even tie his wrists to the barred headboard. At her request, he also revealed where he kept some spare ties that she could use on his ankles. He seemed to think that this was going to be something… sexual? Would that be correct? Why would anyone wish to be tied down for something like that? She didn’t imagine that being bound was going to be pleasurable – especially for him. As she wrapped and bound his chunky ankles down to the posts near the floor, she could start to sense the appeal. He was squirming a little, trying not to feel uncomfortable as he shot her what she assumed was and attempt at a sultry look. She could tell that he wasn’t used to being the one without the power. A smirk formed on her lips as she shifted onto the bed, letting her knees sink into the soft material.  
  
_If the heavens ever did speak_  
  
_She’s the last true mouthpiece_  
  
_Every Sunday’s getting more bleak_  
  
_A fresh poison each week_  
  
_“We were born sick,” you heard them say it_  
  
‘A little tight.’ That was what he’d said, but it didn’t matter anymore because she was currently tying a gag around his head. Well, she wouldn’t have known it was a gag, but he’d told her what it was when she’d pulled it questioningly from the drawer. It had a red ball attached to black straps. Hollen didn’t really understand, but it was proving to come in handy once more. She had him strapped to the bed and vulnerable, waiting as she slipped from the room to make herself more ‘comfortable’. It took a quick trip to his kitchen to find a set of expensive-looking knives. She poked the tip of her finger, sucking the rivulet of blood from the end as she tested the sharpness of the blade. Grabbing two more, she headed back into the bedroom and kept them skillfully behind her back with one hand. Her dress was loosened around her chest, riding up around her thighs as she attempted another sultry look towards her victim. Shutting the door behind her with her foot, she traipsed to the radio and turned it up, letting the sound surround them and fill the negative space.  
  
_Take me to church_  
  
_I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_  
  
_I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife_  
  
_Offer me that deathless death_  
  
_Good God, let me give you my life_  
  
The flash of the knife caught the dim lighting of the room. The flash of fear in his eyes reflected towards her as he began to struggle. The flash of her smile lit up the darkness of her face as she began the hunt. It would be so sweet.

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

* * *

It was difficult for her to choose where to begin.  
  
She sat upon his struggling body, watching as sweat began to bead along his hairline. Her fingers delicately trailed along the sharp edge of the knife, toying with the very fine line of cutting her own flesh and admiring the way the knife could just barely be pressing against her skin. The dim light glittered off of the shimmering surface and she frowned. Glancing up, she noticed a light-switch beside the bedside table and gave herself a silent little nod. She rose from him, rather easily, and languidly moved to turn the lights all the way up. She wanted to be able to see what she was doing whenever she first cut into him. But where, oh where, to begin? The redhead shifted back to the bed and decided to slowly walk the edge, trailing her fingertips along the sheets trapped beneath his heavy frame. A frown touched her lips as she realized that everything about this man reminded her of her father – except those eyes. Those wrong, panicked eyes. They weren’t the right color or shape. They were messing everything up.  
  
She shifted back onto the bed once she’d made it to the other side, letting her legs arch her up near the headboard and over one of his trapped arms. She straddled either side of his head with her pale, freckled thighs – and maybe there was a bit of relaxation there? She glanced down at him, her hair pooling around her face as she studied him with obvious disdain. Whatever he’d been thinking to relax him was soon gone again as she looked at him as though he were a slab of meat. And not the delicious, raw, and bleeding kind. Oh no, she was beginning to smile to herself. It was a wicked curve of her lips as she realized that this was a beautiful angle to begin. And he hardly had a moment to blink those wrong eyes before she had the knife in one. She began to carve away to the sounds of music, her humming tune along with it, and his screams muffled by the gag.  
  
_Drain the whole sea_  
  
_Get something shiny_  
  
_Something meaty for the main course_  
  
_That’s a fine-looking high horse_  
  
_What you got in the stable?_  
  
_We’ve a lot of starving faithful_  
  
They came out rather easily. Not much blood except for some pooling in the skull with her carving job being rather clean in nature. She tossed the eyeballs away and smirked to herself. “There. Now you’re right.” He thrashed at the words and she tutted softly, trailing the flat of the blade down his cheek before making a thin line along the length of his jaw. The blood bubbled and pooled before dripping down his pale flesh, towards his dark mop of hair. “Shhh, shhh. I’ve got you. It will be over before you know it. And God will have you again.” A soft laugh left her, the only indication she could give him that she was grinning like a maniac. He couldn’t see her, after all; he couldn’t see her next move, what she was planning. Suddenly, she was happier with her decision to take the eyes first. It thickened the fear in the air surrounding them and the monster within her cooed with delight. Shifting back to lean against the headboard, she took one of his bound hands and admired the fingers. The music flowed sweetly around them as she took the first digit: the delicate pinky. It tested the ability of the blade and proved to her that she’d chosen right.  
  
She sucked on the blooded end, letting her tongue lash over the white exposure of the bone. The flesh was still warm and throbbing from his accelerated heartbeat. It was the most delicious this way.  
  
_No Masters or Kings_  
  
_When the Ritual begins_  
  
_There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_  
  
_In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene_  
  
_Only then I am human_  
  
_Only then I am clean..._

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

She wasn’t sure when he’d finally died. Maybe an hour into it. Maybe two.

Ultimately, she knew it didn’t matter.

She savored his flavor, peeling the skin away from his muscles, flaying the muscles away from the bone. She pictured the body as though he were a blank canvas she was making beautiful again. The reds of his blood spilled onto his pale flesh, leaving rivulets and paths where it pooled onto the bed and into the creases of his sheets. She dipped her fingers into the areas where the blood was dark and thick, painting little shapes upon the torn up, stiff face of the dead man beneath her. She decided, when she was done painting his face, that he looked like some kind of Native American. A warrior. It was quite pathetic, considering how he lacked all dignity in his final moments. He had been all bluster and pride, reduced to begging and pleading with the beautiful redhead as she’d torn him open. A little part of her regretted removing his eyes first the further she worked on his malleable body. Sometimes, it was nice to see their reactions when they saw their insides spilling out.

The irritation was minor as she got lost in the actions of removing his limbs. Where some killers preferred to use tools, Hollen preferred her natural strength and long fingers. Digging beneath the flesh and feeling it stretch, watching the oddity that was her fingers wiggling beneath the flesh of another human being. The ends of her fingers explored the smooth surface of the joints, managing to shift around the cartilage and slip her fingers through the tendons. Her knife had cut them like butter, and her strong hands easily pried apart his shoulders, his hips, knees, ankles. She also insisted on prying off each rib individually, laying them out in a beautiful pattern, like bloodied wings on either side of his dissected frame. They had to be organized by size – shortest on the outside, longest towards the inside. Everything had to be right. It was the only way the monster would be pleased with her.

As she neared the end of her kill, her prey looking more like a heap of body parts than anything else, the high seemed to dull. She climbed down from the bed and stared at her work. Where she expected to feel satisfaction, she merely felt hollow. A growl of frustration slipped from her lips and she clenched bloodied fists. Damn him. Thoughts twisting, she stalked into the bathroom and shed her ruined dress, taking her time to shower and rid herself of the evidence. Though, she knew that she would leave no traceable evidence. She technically didn’t exist. And she would never exist.

She left the mutilated victim behind in his own bed. The smell would probably be the only alert the neighbors would have to his condition, and that was fine with her. He would smell just like his soul: rotten. Foul. Inhaling deeply, she glanced towards the sky to see the sun beginning to rise, coloring the darkness and chasing the stars. On her exhale, a cloud formed, and she tugged her stolen suit jacket around her damp body. What satisfaction she figured would come from this endeavor wasn’t there. How disappointing. It drew a frown on her lips as she sighed, the monster inside feeling restless.

She was lucky it was so early in the morning. Strangers wouldn’t have to see the lanky redhead in a loose three-piece suit, barefoot, with bulging jacket pockets. Slipping her hands into those pockets, she stroked the set of hands hidden inside, allowing a bit of a smile to quirk up the corner of her lips as she rounded a corner and headed towards the woods. At least she had some snacks for later; the experience wasn’t a total loss.

The forest, though rotting, welcomed her like an old friend.

Thinking on it, she knew that one day she would rot in it, too.

But there was plenty to do until then.

_Fin._

* * *

 


End file.
